


Fall

by Dr_Cat



Series: Like Minded [2]
Category: Knight Rider (1982)
Genre: Angry Boyfriends, Deciduous Trees, Investment Fraud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:21:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22850920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dr_Cat/pseuds/Dr_Cat
Summary: Maybe it's the season or the case, but LAX's parking garage doesn't seem so bad.
Series: Like Minded [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1642711
Kudos: 9





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own nor did I come up with Knight Rider or the characters mentioned in this story. They were created by Glen A. Larson and are copyrighted to NBC/Universal.

** Fall **

It's not that I dislike autumn; rather the opposite. I enjoy the slightly cooler temperatures and crisp fragrance of fading foliage in the air; I even like the excitement brought on by football season, though I will never admit that to anyone, particularly not my friend, Michael. I also like the decorations people put out and the festive events the Foundation puts on, not to mention the fact I'm driven around more with my top down in my stylish convertible mode; again, something I will by no means announce to anybody, especially not Michael. However, there is one serious drawback to this time of year and, thanks to my partner's incurable habit of doing so, I'm parked right under it now; deciduous trees.

Fall literally means fall in their case. I've informed Michael several times that I hate being on the receiving end of aerial bombardments, but somehow I always end up in the middle of a barrage of leaves, twigs, acorns and sap. Michael always apologizes, saying it's some hardwired practice he possesses due to years of owning a dark-colored vehicle in Southern California, finding shade. I remind him constantly that my molecular bonded shell and advanced cooling systems prevent any difficulty with heat even in my basic black form. I remain cool to the touch even on the hottest of summer days. Mm, summer; now there was a season trees were no problem . . . But summer is gone; it's autumn now and I'm under a tree, again.

Judging by the other unfortunate vehicles parked around me, migrating birds seem to be another problem, one I'd care not to deal with; disgusting. This reminds me of that one time at the beach. Leave it to Michael to find the only place along the L.A. coast where seagulls actually eat the aquatic life instead of flocking to the garbage around the boardwalk. I was covered in fish scales, seaweed and who knows what else. It took a full wash and wax from the technicians to get clean and I still can't get that smell out of my olfactory sensor's memory. Well, perhaps summer had its drawbacks too. Either way, it's still going to take another wash to get all this 'fall' off.

Maybe Michael did this on purpose; a way of getting back at me for winning _Super Sprint_ five times in a row. No. Michael may not appreciate losing but I haven't found him to be vindictive, much. He never accuses me of cheating in any case, though I know he feels I have an unfair advantage. It's not my fault I'm so apt at playing computer games, or most games for that matter. I prefer puzzles myself, though a good game of chess is an amazingly enjoyable treat. Michael usually finds a treat to involve a pair of golden arches and the aroma of fried food, the wrappers of which are still littering the back seat. Mm, I wonder if Micheal's any good at playing 'where did I park my car', because if another acorn bounces off my windshield . . .

"Kitt!"

That's Michael! He sounds like he's gotten himself in trouble of the angry boyfriend variety. I told him the waitress, who also happens to be our informant, was already engaged with the restaurant's manager.

"I need ya, buddy!"

You most certainly do; that man chasing you must be on a stringent exercise regiment to have biceps that large. Oh, well, duty calls again I'm afraid.

"I'm on my way!"

I execute a quick retreat from the shady parking space, kicking up leaves and acorn shells in my haste. I circle around the lot, making it to the front of the establishment in three-point five seconds; about two seconds before Michael burst through the entrance. I swing open my driver's side door for my terrified partner, who practically dives into the front seat, and secure it shut before the manager reaches for it. The angry man rages at not being able to get at his quarry and if it weren't for my MBS, I surely would have had a dent in my front left fender at the force of that man's blow, but instead, the poor fellow will be nursing a bruised heel.

"Let's get out of here," Michael says with a grimace. He instinctively slams his foot on the acceleration pedal and grips the steering yoke while I automatically relinquish control of the car to allow him to drive. He takes us out of the parking lot and onto the main road amazingly fast, considering it is lunch hour traffic. I take the opportunity to scan his vitals and make sure no real damage is done. Outside of some red marks left behind on his right shoulder where he was most likely grabbed by our outraged pursuer, he appears alright. Honestly, though Michael, you need to be more careful and considerate; after all . . .

"I did tell you she had a boyfriend."

"Could have warned me he was working close by there, pal," Michael shoots back defensively. Do we _really_ need to go into this?

"Didn't I?"

A deliberate, defeated sigh from my partner; score one for good old perspicacity.

"Yes, you certainly did. Now, I need you to tell me something else. What do you know about our E. B. Tyler?"

I instantly access the updated databanks Bonnie installed this morning and pull up a whole host of information about the subject in question from birth date to business ventures to traffic citations. Bearing in mind Michael wasn't specific in his request (and rarely, if ever, is), I have four options really: remind him that I'm not a mind-reader and ask for clarification, try and cipher out what I think he needs and deliver it with a touch of sarcasm to remind him I'm not a mind-reader or the politer versions of these two. Why not all four?

"He's a fifty-seven-year-old Caucasian male with several investments in phosphate mines within the area; ones he seems intent on selling. He also owns a private jet and two homes, one down Highlands Boulevard here and the other in Rhode Island. He's been accused of money laundering in the past, but never formally charged and he enjoys fishing on the weekends. Would you also like the name of his dentist and barber or would you care to be more specific? I'm a computer, not a psychic, Michael."

My partner rolls his eyes. He always reacts with such dramatics when I simply point out the facts; juvenile and yet, somehow, endearing.

"Could have fooled me," he says offhandedly. Did I say endearing? I meant exasperating.

"I beg your pardon."

"Forget it," he says quickly; a command I am programmed not to ignore, "How about telling me what the E and B stand for?"

"Eric Bailey. He seems to prefer the name Tyler, however, as that is what shows up on most of the documentation."

"Does he have any foreign accounts?"

"Yes, unnumbered Swiss accounts. But that isn't always unusual for a businessman."

"I don't know; something about the way he talks about his own company bugs me. Does he have any other investments?"

"Quite a few, but he holds a substantial amount of stock in Adsol Industries while placing a very minimal investment in the Tyler Corporation by comparison. He sold his own companies stock yesterday around midnight, however."

"Adsol? That's their biggest competitor. So, that's the rub! Tyler is planning to fold his own company in favor of a buyout that will make him billions and cost his clients and employees everything. Kitt tell me again what the Tyler Corporation actually does?" Michael says, sitting up a bit straighter in his seat.

"It claims to help strengthen existing businesses through the retraining of employees and installment of better communication software devices, i.e. phones, networks and computers."

"Now, how many clients do they currently have? Show me on the screen," Michael asks with an enthusiasm I know so well. He's on to something, but I'm failing to see the connection.

"There are two-hundred, Michael. But why do you ask?" I say bringing up the list of clients on my monitor so he can see the names and addresses. He looks over at them and furrows his brow in concentration. Suddenly, he grins and points at the display.

"That's why. Kitt, how many times does Grant Smith show up in the clientele list?"

I do the search and find, to my astonishment, that the name Grant Smith shows up five times in different variations. How could I have missed that? Placing that inquiry in my memory banks for further analysis later, I quickly run a scan on all the other clients and find that they, too, repeat in the system or, worse yet, could not exist. I whittle it down and find only forty individuals among a gulf of duplicates and counterfeits.

"Michael, that name shows up five times. It's the same person and that's not all. The whole list is compiled of forty names being repeated in slightly different ways while most of the others are fictional."

My friend's face lights up with even more eagerness, the answer in his eyes. It's the excitement of the 'aha moment' and I love it.

"I knew it. This is just one big investor's scheme. He bolstered the number of customers he has so more people would invest in his company and in turn, made it look worth having by Adsol Industries. He's not only going to rip off his own but the competition as well. He can't plan on staying in the country after this. Kitt, tell me does he have any travel arrangements?"

"Indeed he does, Michael. Two plane tickets out of LAX for Paris. Booked for Friday morning at eight," I say, surprised by his prediction. I always find it fascinating how he is able to take several pieces of information and foresee a peculiar event related to them. It never fails to amaze me; now, if only he could remember not to park me in the shade during autumn.

"Two? Who's he taking with him?" he asks, genuinely puzzled. Ah, the human mind can still leave much to be desired. I suppose this is where my ability to never forget aids him most.

"Silvia Wilcox, the assistant who so 'thoughtfully' aided us in finding that abandoned office building ready for demolition," I say with no hidden amount of contempt. I really didn't like her from the beginning but add in the fact she tried to kill my partner . . .

"Oh, yeah, how could I forget," Michael says with equal disdain, before his face grows thoughtful, "I wonder why he's taking her?"

"I doubt it's for companionship," I mutter quietly. Michael laughs.

"I doubt so too, buddy. She's not exactly his equal, though obviously, she's willing enough to do anything for him," he says, making a left-hand turn at the light. He was taking us back to the hotel Tyler was staying at. I thought back to our morning meeting with Silvia and recalled one abnormality I never thought to bring up. Actually, it was more like I hadn't gotten a chance to share it because Michael was too busy chasing down leads and I was too busy making sure we didn't blow up.

"For a receptionist, she certainly was wearing a lot of expensive jewelry," I say pensively.

"You mean it was real!?" Michael asks; stunned most likely the feeling he's projecting.

"Yes, well, it definitely wasn't rock candy hanging around her neck, Michael. She was wearing at least forty thousand dollars worth of diamonds in the necklace alone."

Michael suddenly slams on the breaks and turns the wheel dramatically to the left, for a neatly performed, but hair-raising one-eighty. Of course, no other vehicles or pedestrians were present, but still. My CPU can't help but spin with the abrupt change. What's going on? He pushes down on the accelerator and we take off in the opposite direction. Before I can compose myself to ask he quickly says:

"Check the reservations on the plane tickets again. Look for cancellations or changes."

I do so as quickly as I can. Two adult tickets; Flight 8346; American Airlines; business class; 800am . . . wait . . . Changes; Flight 2569; Pan Am; coach; 2pm today!

"Michael, their flight leaves in thirty minutes!"

"Get me Devon. This is going to be a close one!" He exclaims, clearly heading for the airport. As I dial up the functions to get in touch with the Foundation I am grateful for two things; such a first-rate, knowledgeable friend as Michael and the treeless state of the Los Angeles International Airport's parking garage.

* * *

_Perfume and incense bring joy to the heart, and the pleasantness of a friend springs from their heartfelt advice. Proverbs 27: 9_


End file.
